


Nevada's Scar

by clowchan



Category: Chitty Chitty Bang Bang - All Media Types, Trouble in the Heights (2011)
Genre: Backstory, M/M, Nevactacus, Quirks, Scars, backstories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 06:01:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21192749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clowchan/pseuds/clowchan
Summary: Nevada (reluctantly)  tells Caractacus how he got his scar under his left eyeEnjoy!





	Nevada's Scar

**Author's Note:**

> More of a writing exercise and exploring Nevada's past and quirks

Caractacus couldn’t help but stare at Nevada.

Nevada catches him, “What?”

“Nothing,” Caractacus averts his eyes away from him.

“Bullshit. What’s wrong?”

He bites his lip, uncertain how to respond.

“Come on, Potts. Do I smell or somethin’?”

“No. Just...” He caresses the jagged scar under Nevada’s left eye with back of his right hand. “This.”

He laughs, “Oh, this stupid thing?”

Caractacus purses his lips.

“Crackpott. This thing here is not that serious,” he scoffs. “Besides, got it long before I ever met you.”

“Doesn’t make it less concerning.”

“You worry too much.”

“You knew this dating me.”

“And you knew what I was when I became _mi novio_.”

“I know but,” he leans in giving the scar a chaste kiss. “How on Earth did you get that?”

Nevada tries to brush him off, “Boring story.”

“Vada, you’re a lot of things, but boring isn’t one of them,” he cuddles up to him. “Please tell me.”

Nevada hated when he said _“please”_ like that. He couldn’t understand how a grown man AND a father could be _nauseatingly adorable._ All the more reason to protect him. And this story might, for lack of a better word, scar him. He sucks in his breath audibly and then shakes his head. “... I guess”

“Thank you.”

They both lean back on the couch and Caractacus lays his head on his chest, looking up at him.

“So I was 18...”

They fade out and a younger Nevada, around 18 years old, appears. He is slender, had longer hair, wearing a graphic white t-shirt, jeans, and had a baby face. He is running fast from something. Or someone. Washington Heights during the late 80s/early 90s was a different animal. A dangerous one. The area was a high crime neighbourhood rife with drugs and murder. Here, it was kill or be killed. Nevada, barely out of high school, started working for a drug lord at the time nicknamed El Lobo. The man was an asshole and quite unforgiving if he you crossed him. Yet he took a liking to the young Nevada and began teaching him his trade of underground crime. Rumour had it he was sleeping with Nevada’s mother and her one request was to not harm her son. He didn’t dare question this rumour as much as he loved her. He runs behind an overfilled dumpster, catching his breath. “_Coño_,” he says under his breath. He can hear men call for him.

“Come on, Ramirez. We only want to talk,” one of them says tauntingly.

His chest was burning. His home was 10 blocks away. If Nevada made it there, he would be safe. He stands still as possible. People who were chasing him were from one of the rival gangs that were at war with El Lobo. Unfortunately, for Nevada he made the rookie mistake of delivering items out in the open. Someone outside a bodega spotted him and snitched.

He had to get moving again. He looked desperately for an escape route. The abandoned apartment building behind him seemed like the most logical answer. He bolts and enters it. The only people here were junkies and crackheads, but he didn’t care. Besides, they were either strung-out or asleep. Or he hoped they were asleep. Finding the backdoor boarded shut, he realised exiting that way was a no-go. He checks other rooms. No exits. He thought he found a way out until a gun is pointed straight at his face. Fuck.

“_Siéntate_,” the man points the gun to a busted chair in the middle of the room. “Hurry the fuck up.” Nevada complied. Another man ties a rope around his chest. The room had limited light, and it was hard to see each of their features. He noticed there were three men. One was around his age of 18-19. The other two were mid-20s. The heaviest of the three was the leader. Nevada referred to him as Uno and the other two, Dos and Tres.

Uno growled, “We know you work for El Lobo. What were you doing up by Sammy’s?”

Nevada says nothing. He was scared, but he was not a snitch. He’d rather die. Yet his heart thudded so hard against his chest he wondered if they could hear it.

“Come on, we know you’re El Lobo’s little stooge,” Dos says.

Nevada neither confirmed nor denied his statement. He continued sitting there quietly, which made the three men increasingly angry.

“Fucking tough guy, huh?” Uno asks. Tres steps forward and pinches the back of Nevada’s neck hard. He grips the armrests of the chair so hard, his knuckles turned white. The three men surround him, taunting him

Tres laughs, “Nah, he’s a fucking pussy. I bet he’s El Lobo’s _puto_.”

Dos crosses his arms, “Heard his _madre_ is. How does it feel that your mama sucks his dick all day?”

Tres thinks aloud, “Maybe it’s a family thing. _Su hermana es_.”

Uno smirks, “I’d like to take that bitch for a ride.”

Nevada made the mistake of muttering, “shut up.” He could take them talking shit all day about him or his boss. With his mother and sister, however, he was fiercely protective over them. A fist met his stomach and a _“you shut the fuck up_.” All the air left his body.

“We fucking know you work for him so why not fess up?” The chubbier man pulls out a knife and points it at his face. “_¡Mira! _You’re lucky we haven’t killed you yet. You’re a nobody, Ramirez. _Nobody_. We could dump your body here and nobody would give a shit. They’ll just think you’re one of these piece-of-shit junkies killed over their bullshit.”

“_Suck my dick_.” Nevada figured if he was going to die, he was going to die. Might as well be an asshole before he leaves this planet.

Uno growls, “What did you say?!”

“You heard me: Suck. My. Dick,” tilting his head to his crotch, smirking.

A moment later, he felt a stinging pain near his left eye. It dawned on him Uno stabbed him. He moans out in pain, “_¡Qué vaina!_” Blood trickled down his face and on to his shirt. Shit. He blinks and realised he could still see, even if it was a bit blurry. “_Stupid_,” he thinks to himself. He waited for the knife to slice his throat or to plunge into his chest. Instead, a few gunshots rang out. His captors all drop. _“What the fuck?”_

“I hate cockroaches.” It was El Lobo. He was in his late 30s but he had a very weathered look about him. He stares at the three slain men as he holsters his Beretta 92 before spitting on them. 

Nevada asks, “How did you find me?”

“You forget I have eyes everywhere, no?” El Lobo sucks air through his teeth when he sees Nevada’s bloodied up face. “Alonso, take a look at that.”

One of El Lobo’s guards unties Nevada and Alonso pulls out a medical kit from his jacket. El Lobo had a rule of ‘no hospitals’. It attracted unneeded attention. If his men weren’t dying, they were patched up where they were.

“I wonder who they worked for? I’ve never seen them before,” Nevada looks up at his boss.

El Lobo says, “I think I have an idea _pero no te preocupes por eso_. Just continue to deliver my shit.”

“Damn, kid. They fucked you up pretty good,” Alonso said. He was tall, slight, and wore glasses. He reminded Nevada of that really nerdy guy from _Revenge of the Nerds_. He was around 25. “This is gonna hurt like hell.” He covered up Nevada’s left eye with a cloth before cleaning the wound with alcohol.

“FUCK!” Nevada breathes in deeply.

“Told you.” He gives the wound another look over. “You need stitches.” Before Nevada could say anything else Alonso orders, “Hold him down.” Two of the men pin his arms and shoulders to the chair. El Lobo lights a cigarette and watches his medic patch up Nevada.

Honestly, Nevada thought the alcohol hurt worse than the needle and thread piercing his skin. It still hurt like a bitch but not as bad. As Alonso tidies up the stitch and uncovers his eye he says, “They used a serrated blade, so that’s gonna scar. You’re lucky they missed your eye.”

Nevada nods.

“Visit me on Wadsworth and 176 in a week. Also, wear sunglasses during the day,” Alonso recommends.

“Alright.”

“Let’s get out of here,” El Lobo commanded before snapping his fingers to his guards. “_Disponer de esta basura_.” All four respond with a “_sí_.”

“When _Mamá_ found out,” Nevada laughs. “She kicked my ass. Then cursed me out for ruining my clothes.” Until he realised Caractacus had tears forming in his eyes. “Crackpott. The story has a happy ending. I’m still here.”

“I understand but your eye. And you were still a child.” Caractacus wipes his eyes with a handkerchief.

“Not blind and young adult,” Nevada corrects him. “The Heights were different back then. I got off very lucky. Some didn’t. How it was. How it is.”

“You still got hurt,” Caractacus places another kiss on Nevada’s scar and caresses his stomach.

He shakes his head, “Yeah. You definitely wouldn’t have survived.”

Caractacus looks surprised, “_Tsk_. You don’t know that.“

Nevada raises an eyebrow, “Whatever you say.” He pats his hand. “Don’t you have to get your kids at school?”

“Your sister is picking them up today,” he pulls out a stopwatch from his vest pocket, looks at it quickly, and puts it back. “And we have a dinner date in a few.” He stands up, lending out a hand, and pulling up Nevada into an embrace.

“We do? Where?”

“That’s a surprise. And I’m paying!” He kisses him and grabs their keys off the wall.

Nevada puts on his leather jacket, “You s-”

“Sure? Yes,” Caractacus nods. With that, he leads him out and closes the door.


End file.
